Springtime for TARDIS
by Pasha Schwartz
Summary: A fanfic crossover of Doctor Who and The Producers. The story might have happened between two episodes of Season 3.


**SPRINGTIME FOR TARDIS**

"And here we are!" the Doctor exclaimed, closing the TARDIS door behind himself. "Berlin, Germany! The Great Love Parade of 2039. Just as you requested!"

"Actually, Doctor, you were the one who insisted on seeing it, not me." Martha Jones smiled.

"Well, does it really matter?" The Doctor shook his left hand in a dismissive gesture. "We all need love, don't we?"

"Yes, we do." Martha sighed and looked wistfully at her companion. Naturally, the Doctor, who was walking in front of her, didn't even notice. "Again," Martha added mentally.

"So, where is the Parade?" The Doctor turned his head left, then right, then left again. "I do hope I haven't screwed up the coordinates. Is this even Berlin?"

"Yes, it is." Martha nodded with no hesitation. "This is the Brandenburg Gate, see? And on the right, there is the Reichstag building…"

"And those, I believe, are the German flags?" the Doctor interrupted her.

And then Martha suddenly stopped, as if she had just run into some invisible wall.

"Well…" she said slowly, "not exactly. In fact, displaying _these_ flags is specifically forbidden here".

"Oh, really?" The Doctor shrugged. "Should we call the police, then?"

"That won't be necessary."

Somewhat surprised, the Doctor and Martha turned right and indeed saw two policemen. One of them, a tall and thin blond, had apparently just talked to them. The other one was a short and plump brunet.

"Oh, great!" Martha exclaimed. "What's the deal with all this crap?" She pointed at the nearest flag, which was hanging on the top of the nearest building.

"I beg your pardon?" the tall blond frowned. "What did you just call our sacred symbol?"

"Sacred symbol?" Martha couldn't believe her own eyes and ears. "You call this swastika shit sacred?"

"What?" the short brunet expressed his disbelief as well. "How dare you being so rude, you filthy subhuman ape?"

Without even thinking for a second, Martha raised her hand and slapped the short policeman with as much indignation and fury as she could possibly summon.

"And _now_ you are in real trouble," the tall policeman promptly took a gun out of his holster. "Striking an on-duty police officer…"

"…And disrespecting our national symbol…" the short one added, rubbing his cheek.

"I don't give a shit about your national symbols!" Martha shouted, still shaking with anger. "I am a British citizen!"

"Yes, yes, and so am I," the Doctor added hastily, taking an empty piece of paper out of his suit pocket. "A British citizen, see? Here is my passport."

"Yes, it _is _a British passport," the tall policeman smiled, but that smile was anything but pleasant.

"Backup. We need backup," his short colleague said into a police radio, which suddenly appeared in his right hand. "We have here two citizens of a hostile nation."

"A hostile nation?" Martha exclaimed in disbelief, still mentally refusing to understand what was going on. "Is this the right year? Is this the '39?"

"Yes, it is," the tall policeman, still pointing his gun at the Doctor. "It's 1939 indeed".

"September 5, 1939," his short partner specified, pointing his gun at Martha.

"Should have added a hundred…" the Doctor sighed hopelessly, recalling his pre-flight calculations.

...

"Very well." Heinrich Muller nodded.

After being questioned by the new Gestapo chief of the Third Reich for twelve straight hours, the Doctor felt extremely tired and hapless. Should he have risked being shot and tried to make a run for the TARDIS right away? No, probably not. He had no right to risk Martha being shot, too… Yet now his position was utterly hopeless. The sonic screwdriver was taken away by the Gestapo goons, and so was the TARDIS. As a result, both the Doctor and Martha were prisoners of one of the most feared regimes in the history of this planet.

"Well, we've had quite a nice chat," the Doctor replied in his usual fake-lighthearted manner. "I've told you everything. Can we go now?"

"Oh, no." Muller shook his head, not sounding amused in the least. "Your information might be invaluable for the Reich. You claim to possess the time machine…"

"Time and space, to be more precise. I can go to other planets…"

"No, that doesn't interest me at all." Muller shook his head again. "Right now, we have enough on our hands here on Earth. We just invaded Poland several days ago. I think it would be quite beneficial for the Reich leadership to find out how this war ends. By, say… going into the future?"

"Oh, no, no way," the Doctor replied emphatically. "This point in time and space is very important. I can't let you change it by giving you spoilers."

"Giving me what?" Muller frowned, visibly confused.

"I mean future information. Information from the future. It's something you're not supposed to get beforehand. It would be like cheating, now wouldn't it?"

"Be that as it may, the Reich needs this information now." Muller shrugged. "And you're in no position to say no."

"Well, I beg to disagree," the Doctor said. "It's just one word, and not a very long one, just two letters. _No._"

"You must have forgotten, Doctor, that we can be very… convincing," Muller replied almost gently. "And I don't mean verbally."

"Are you threatening me?" The Doctor seemed genuinely surprised. "The thing is, Mr. Muller, I've been subjected to force, including deadly force, countless times. I've been dead and regene…"

"Oh, I wasn't threatening you," Muller interrupted him. "The person I was going to… convince would be your beautiful, albeit sadly non-Aryan, companion."

The Doctor's face turned white. Somehow, he hadn't foreseen this coming. Which didn't make the new threat less serious than it was.

"I see." Muller smiled. "So you _do_ care about her. Well, all you have to do is reconsider. _Yes_ is a short and sweet word as well."

...

"Really?" Adolf Hitler looked at Heinrich Muller with extreme disbelief.

"Yes, my Fuhrer." Muller nodded. "Our two agents just came back from the future, using the captured time machine."

"Really?" Hitler repeated his question. "And where, pray tell, did they go?"

"You mean where and when, my Fuhrer?" Muller raised his index finger, not being able to resist showing off his time-traveling theoretical skills.

"Yes, of course," the leader of the Third Reich replied somewhat impatiently. "What year did they go to?"

"The exact year is a bit unknown…" Muller hesitated. "Somewhere in the 1960s. And the city they went to was New York."

"New York City?" Hitler frowned. "That American plutocratic mongrel cesspool? What was there to see, anyway, future or no future?"

"Actually, my Fuhrer, they _did_ see something remarkable. Namely, a Broadway play honoring you."

"Honoring _me_?" The Fuhrer was astonished beyond belief. "Why in the world would Americans honor me? Unless we've beaten them in a war and occupied them… I mean, will have beaten and occupied them by that time…"

"The question of a possible war between us and them is still debatable." Muller shook his head. "And the agents didn't see any of our flags on New York streets, which probably means occupation is out of the question. However, they did see a Broadway play named _Springtime for Hitler_."

"_Springtime for Hitler_?" Hitler repeated somewhat pensively, not being able to hide a pleasant smile. "I have to admit… it's not a bad name. And what was the play about?".

"The play honored several German military victories," Muller replied.

"Aha!" Hitler exclaimed. "So we did… we will beat Poland!"

"Not just Poland, my Fuhrer. Apparently, we will have defeated France as well."

"Excellent!" Hitler's excitement visibly grew. "What about England? Russia?"

"There was nothing about these two, my Fuhrer," Muller admitted reluctantly. "But the play did strongly suggest the German master race is going to dominate Europe in the future."

"This is excellent news, Heinrich! What else did the agents learn from the lyrics?"

"Well, my Fuhrer…" Muller hesitated somewhat. "There was your… well, monologue. You have described your achievements and extolled your own virtues on stage."

"Well, that's somewhat inaccurate." Hitler shrugged. "I am too modest to toot my own horn. Still… how did the crowd react?"

"Oh, they loved it, my Fuhrer! The play was an instant success!"

"Excellent, Heinrich! I suppose the producers must have been overjoyed!"

"Actually, my Fuhrer…" Muller replied slowly. "As far as our agents heard, both producers ran away right after the show ended. Or even before it did."

"That's a strange way to celebrate," Hitler said, visibly amazed. "Why wouldn't they enjoy a successful play about me?"

"Maybe because they're Jewish?" Muller suggested.

"Yes, that must be it." Hitler nodded. "But what about the director? Oh, Heinrich, if only I could meet a person who immortalized me on stage!"

"Actually, my Fuhrer, that can be arranged," Muller replied readily.

"It can?" Hitler's eyes almost popped out.

"Yes, it can, my Fuhrer. On the way back to Germany, our agents kidnapped him."

...

When Roger Elizabeth DeBris entered Hitler's office in the Imperial Chancellery, his amazement peaked. Again.

Of course, all the events leading up to that particular moment had been amazing as well. First, Roger was approached by two strange men, who claimed they were German, yet spoke English with no trace of an accent. Then, he was forcibly taken into something resembling a pay phone, which turned out to be some large collection of science fiction movie decorations. Afterwards, he was somehow transported into this strange city, which looked definitely foreign, yet still English-speaking. And now, he was standing in front of…

"Oh – my – God!" DeBris exclaimed. "You are… you are…"

"Adolf Hitler," the man sitting at the table nodded.

There was no one else in the room.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Roger said, shaking with excitement. "Now, _that's_ our Hitler!"

"What do you mean?" Hitler frowned.

"Oh dear, don't you realize it?" DeBris spread his hands. "_You_ are the one I should have picked to play the part, not that klutz Liebkind!"

"What part?" Hitler asked, still not understanding his kidnapped guest.

"Your part, silly!" Roger exclaimed. "The part of Hitler! First, I pick Liebkind, and guess what – he breaks his leg! Right before the opening night!"

"So what did you do?"

Now, Hitler was genuinely interested and even concerned. After all, his honor was on the line. In a way.

"Well…" DeBris lowered his eyes modestly. "I did what any self-respecting director would do in my shoes. I stepped up and did your part myself."

"And the crowd loved it?" Hitler smiled.

"Oh, yes! I guess I made a better you than this idiot Liebkind ever could! But that's nothing compared to the real thing! You, my friend, only you should do the part from now on! Think of it! Adolf Hitler as Adolf Hitler!"

"Well… I am flattered, of course…" Hitler blushed. "However, I really can't abandon my office, my duty and my people. After all, we have glorious future ahead of us…"

"Oh dear," Roger said in a different, somewhat dejected tone of voice.

...

"Oh, really?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes, really." Muller nodded grimly. "Turns out our future isn't as great as we thought it was. In fact, it's disastrous. The accursed play did not elaborate enough."

"Well, I told you so." The Doctor shrugged. "That's what you get for cheating."

"Oh, I am not done cheating," Muller said. "Not by a long shot".

"And what do you want from me now?" The Doctor sighed hopelessly.

"Well, Doctor, you and I are going to get to work."

"Doing what?"

"Doing everything to prevent that preposterous future from happening."

"Actually…" the Doctor said slowly, licking his dry lips.

"Actually what, Doctor?"

"What if I could just destroy the world your agents saw?"

"Just like that?" Muller said, visibly surprised.

"Yes, just like that. As a Time Lord, I am quite capable of destroying worlds. And it wouldn't require any effort from you at all."

"I suppose," Muller replied pensively, "there is a price?"

"Oh, yes, there is."

...

"And what was the price?" Martha asked, holding one of the TARDIS controls with both hands.

"Oh, nothing major." The Doctor shrugged. "They let us all go, and gave us everything back. Now we are both safe… well, as safe as can be while traveling in time and space."

"Still, Doctor…" Martha sighed. "How could you actually destroy the future? The whole world? Unless you just tricked the Nazis…"

"Nope, no trickery," the Doctor replied calmly. "The world their agents saw is no more".

"My God…" Martha almost moaned. "You destroyed the '60s? Does it mean my time is no more as well? The '80s, the '90s, the '2000s?"

"Blimey, Martha!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Do you really think I would let the Nazis into the _real_ '60s?"

"Then where did they go in the TARDIS?"

"They went into an imaginary world, Martha! A world that has never really existed in the first place! A world from that film you showed me last week!"

And the Doctor pointed at a DVD player in the corner – and a DVD next to it, broken in two for some strange reason.

"Oh my God!" Martha shouted indignantly. "Who broke _The Producers_?"

"I did, Martha! The world the Nazi agents saw was just a phantom! Max Bialystock and Leo Bloom, Franz Liebkind and Ulla, _Springtime for Hitler_ – they were all just figments of Mel Brooks' imagination. Of course, while the DVD was still intact, I used the TARDIS to bring that phantom world into existence – temporarily, that is. Until I broke the DVD and made the imaginary world disappear once and for all. Which has not affected reality whatsoever, be it real past, real present or real future. Of course, the Nazis don't know that - but I am not going to lose any sleep over it."

"Well, then everything is back to normal," Martha said. "Except for…"

And she pointed at Roger Elizabeth DeBris, who was sleeping on a couch in an adjacent room.

"Oh, that's OK." The Doctor made a dismissive gesture. "We'll just drop him in real New York City, your time. Let him play himself on Broadway. After all, that's exactly what he offered Hitler, isn't it?"


End file.
